


17-Comfort's Arms

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 4, The Long Shadow [17]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-08
Updated: 2007-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Boyz learn to reach out and touch each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	17-Comfort's Arms

Obi-Wan stood with his hands resting on his padawan’s shoulders, feeling Jicky trembling against him with the effort to reveal none of her feelings and remain as impassive and stoic as her master. « _Breathe,_ » he told her through their training bond, glad it was one they could actually communicate through. « _Concentrate on your breath and nothing else. Not what your senses tell you. Just your breath. Find your center and concentrate on staying there._ » He squeezed her shoulders gently, almost invisibly, just to let her know he was there and give her an anchor. In truth, only years of training were keeping his own veneer of calm in place. He was glad Qui-Gon wasn’t there to see this. It would have hurt him deeply.

Flames crackled in the square before them, shooting high into the air in a great conflagration, carrying the stench of burned flesh from each of the almost two dozen pyres, only the latest in a string of such horrors. At least the screaming had stopped, now that the bodies were almost consumed. But none of the people put live to the torch had died painlessly, and Obi-Wan was outraged at the waste of life and sheer cruelty they were witnessing. And the pyres reminded him all too much of the one he’d once seen in Qui-Gon’s future, one that he hoped was now averted or at least pushed a long way off.

Finally, after what felt like decades rather than hours, most of the fuel was consumed and its burdens with it. What was left was soaked with water, raked, and soaked again, then shoveled into bins for an ignominious disposal. As the last of it was being carted away and the crowds who had watched, mostly in cowed silence, dispersed, Obi-Wan turned to the rotund official decked out in full clerical regalia beside him with a visage gone to stone and ice.

“You will give me a list of those who died here today and all you have killed before. And rest assured that it will be read out before the entire Senate so that all the worlds of the Republic will know what crimes against life you have committed and act accordingly.”

“I will do no such th—” the official sputtered. Obi-Wan cut him off.

“You will, Intercessor. Immediately. Or there will be, as you say, hell to pay. Your world is a signatory member of a body which forbids this sort of punishment by treaty. The Senate’s agreements are not to be trifled with, and there is a reason they sent two Jedi. Remember what you have heard about us. I will not ask again.”

The official blanched beneath his vestments and motioned to his secretary, who shot suddenly fearful glances in Obi-Wan’s direction as his superior whispered in his ear. A few moments later, Obi-Wan was being handed a chip, which he popped into his own datapad and surveyed as though committing it to memory before making the pad seem to disappear with the chip still in it. Without another word, he touched Jicky’s shoulder and they left the platform, striding across the now-scrubbed square toward the port and their ship. Obi-Wan was careful to keep his stride short enough for Jicky to keep up with without scurrying, allowing them a dignified departure.

“Stay alert, Padawan,” Obi-Wan warned as he hailed a speedercab. “I doubt we’ll be allowed to leave quietly.”

“Yes, Master,” Jicky replied, still sounding subdued but with a grim determination in her voice.

Obi-Wan was right. A few streets from the port they encountered a blockade. He let their cab go with a generous tip and he and Jicky stepped from it with their hands concealed inside their sleeves. Two dozen of the Intercessor’s Guard blocked the way bearing blasters and forcepikes. Instead of keeping his distance, Obi-Wan walked right up to the commander, with Jicky just a little behind and to his left.

“Let us pass, please,” Obi-Wan requested in a mild voice. “We are envoys of the Galactic Senate with diplomatic immunity.”

“We know who you are, Jedi,” the commander replied. “You have something the Intercessor General would like returned. That’s all we ask.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, under the circumstances.” There were too many of them to Force-persuade at once and Obi-Wan doubted that merely influencing the leader would work for long, but it might get them through the barrier and a little closer to their ship. “You’ve got what you wanted and you’re letting us pass,” he intoned, making a subtle movement of his hand.

“I’ve got what I wanted and decided to let you pass,” the commander repeated, moving aside.

Obi-Wan stepped around him casually with Jicky following and walked quickly away. “When I say so,” he said quietly, putting himself between Jicky and the cordon now behind them, “you leg it and get our pilot to fire up the ship for liftoff. This won’t last long. The others will twig to it soon.”

“Got it, Master,” Jicky replied, lengthening her own stride.

They’d gone only halfway down the block before Obi-Wan’s prediction came true and the sound of feet pounding behind them and cries of “stop them!” erupted. “Go!” Obi-Wan ordered, and Jicky broke away from her master and tore down the street toward the port, only a few blocks away, comm already in hand. Obi-Wan stopped immediately and turned, lightsaber appearing from beneath the folds of his cloak just in time to catch and ricochet back a blaster bolt. Not waiting for his attackers to come to him, Obi-Wan took the battle to them, blade flashing, severing pikes and turning blaster bolts aside harmlessly. Slowly, he drove his pursuers back toward the cordon and beyond it, herding them behind their own vehicles, which he then overturned with the Force before turning and fleeing himself.

With enhanced speed, he caught up to Jicky, who had not yet learned to use it, scooped her up, and kept going. Finding the gate to the port closed against them, Obi-Wan simply boosted his apprentice up and over the fence as he had many times in the salles and leapt over himself. Jicky turned a perfect somersault in the air and landed easily in a crouch, then took off again beside him. Alarms whooped around them as they sped off toward their ship. At the entrance to their hangar, they found a final attempt to stop them in the shape of another dozen guards, whom the two Jedi merely pushed aside into separate tangled heaps with the Force. Jicky sprinted up the ramp with her master right behind her.

Their pilot, used to such precipitous departures, barely waited for the hatch to close before using the thrusters to take them straight up.

“I doubt they’ll fire on us,” Obi-Wan remarked, strapping himself into the co-pilot’s seat. “But let’s not waste any time. The ship is considered neutral territory,” he added for Jicky’s benefit. “Firing on it would be a hostile act and invite more intervention by the Senate.” His apprentice nodded to show she understood even as she strapped herself into a jump seat.

Again, Obi-Wan’s call was correct. Once the Jedi were aboard, their pursuers seemed to give up the chase. Moments later, the Republic corvette was high above the planet, weaving through traffic in the skilled hands of a Force-sensitive pilot. Obi-Wan fed in the navigation numbers and  waited for the result. Very soon, they made the jump, unimpeded.

Obi-Wan let out a deep breath when the starlines appeared and unstrapped. He clapped their pilot on the shoulder and went aft, sitting down across from Jicky in another jump seat. She looked as drained as he felt as she unstrapped herself and pulled her feet up onto the seat, wrapping her arms around them. Obi-Wan reached across and stroked her hair.

“You did very well, Padawan,” he said gently. “I know how hard it was for you to watch something like this and do nothing. You did an excellent job of maintaining your composure.”

Jicky said nothing, just buried her face in her knees. Very soon, her shoulders were shaking, and though she tried to shield herself, Obi-Wan could feel her horror and revulsion through the bond. He knelt beside her in the corridor and pulled her gently into his arms. She wept into his shoulder in little hiccupy sobs as he stroked her hair and murmured soothing words against the top of her head. The stench of smoke there masked the sweet fragrance of childhood she still carried that Obi-Wan had grown to cherish in his padawan, all the more since he knew how fleeting it would be. He’d never questioned his own apprenticeship and the horrors he’d seen in it, or how quickly he’d grown up—as all Jedi younglings did—but there were moments now when it seemed wrong to subject young ones to this level of adult perfidy. This was one of them.

He lifted her onto his lap and held her close as her crying wound down and sleep tugged at her. As her breathing evened out, he picked her up, Jicky’s arms going around his neck, and went into the tiny cabin that had been hers on the way out. There, he helped her out of her boots and hung up her cloak and tunic. When she was down to her undertunics and small clothes, he tucked her into the bunk and sat beside her while she fell asleep. For good measure, he touched her forehead and murmured “Sleep soundly,” sending the suggestion through their bond.

Obi-Wan sat for a moment with his hands dangling between his knees, watching her face smooth out, hoping no dreams of this mission would haunt her. He knew they’d find him soon and dreaded reliving even a moment of the experience. When he was sure Jicky was settled in, he got up and went quietly to his own cabin.

 

Alone, finally, in his own small cubicle, Obi-Wan felt the exhaustion of emotional horror crash down on him like a wave, making his limbs leaden. He stripped out of his own smoke-infused clothing and crawled beneath the bunk’s covers like a man seeking refuge. Unbearably weary but unable to sleep, he cautiously opened the bond between himself and Qui-Gon. His lover, at least, seemed to be enjoying a good night’s rest. Warmth filled him as the bond strengthened, warmth and peace and quiet that was as good as a long meditation. For a time, the younger man simply let the deep calmness of his lover’s slumber fill and renew him, sinking into it, wondering if he could be lulled asleep himself through this bond alone. It would certainly be a handy cure for insomnia, if so.

There was so much they still didn’t know about the deepened connection between them, even after nearly three years. They’d had so little time to grow accustomed to it before Obi-Wan had been sent off on his first mission, one that had stretched out into a half-year. The missions since had been increasingly difficult, sometimes disastrous, and wildly varied, as though the Council were testing his abilities to see where his strengths and weaknesses lay, which was probably true. It was strangely exhausting, in a way successive missions with his master had never been. He realized quickly it was because all the responsibility lay on him, rather than Qui-Gon. With Jicky in tow, that responsibility was even heavier.

This mission had been particularly difficult simply because he had failed. Not that anyone had truly expected him to succeed.  No, this had been a last-ditch effort, and not even Qui-Gon could have found any kind of fulcrum to move the hearts and minds of this particular group of people.  The mission had not even involved negotiations, per se; rather Obi-Wan and his apprentice had been sent to deliver an ultimatum from the Senate to respect the rights of all sentient beings as set forth in the governing charter.  Despite the implicit threat of loss of membership, no one expected the Senate, bogged in procedure and protocol, to carry it out. As is true of most ultimata with no teeth, this one failed to impress anyone. The mission had been short and ugly and ended in the most horrible kind of organized violence: the execution of martyrs.

In his years as Qui-Gon’s apprentice, Obi-Wan had long ago decided that religious disputes were by far the worst of any to try to mediate.  They were invariably old, entrenched, bitter, and largely hopeless, because both sides were equally convinced of their divine righteousness, if not the infallibility of their leaders.  Such disputes, whether they involved the possession of land or simply mutual tolerance, were also some of the most violent, and Obi-Wan found that deeply depressing.  Though the Jedi were themselves of many faiths and beliefs, from the most ascetic and conservative to nothing more demanding than the simple meditation required to find one’s center in the Force, few religions, even those that incorporated belief in the Force, seemed rooted in the Jedi abhorrence of violence.  Or if they were, someone seemed always able to find some justification for exceptions.  It was enough to make one forswear all of them, he thought tiredly.  And why so many of them should insist on burning their enemies . . .  It was sickening.

Still, he and Jicky had stood and watched, out of a sense of duty to the victims he was unable to help. He had toyed with the idea of sending Jicky back to the ship first, but knew she would have to learn to deal with sights like these sooner or later. Still, it was a hard thing to watch her suffer with it, as hard as it had been to watch the spectacle himself. But he could not let these deaths pass without a witness. There had been too many already.

The Intercessor General had been less than pleased to have them there, but Obi-Wan would not be refused. Some of the victims had gone to their deaths defiantly, some with a dignity that rivaled Qui-Gon’s, but few of them in repentance.  Those who had recanted were being sent to the flames anyway to cleanse their souls and were most vocal in their fear. One or two had caught Obi-Wan’s eye and begged to be remembered.  “It will be so,” he answered formally to each one who asked.  In the end, it was not the list he carried of the victims’ names but the spectacle of those fiery deaths that would fix each face in his mind.

Even now, the smell clung to his cloak and the rest of his clothing. He was afraid the sounds of their voices would echo through his sleep, and was awake now because of it. The image of the flames haunted him; more than once one of the faces had looked like Qui-Gon’s consumed within them. A part of him wondered if he should have eased their way into death, at least sending them into unconsciousness. It was something his master might have done, though it would have been difficult, if not impossible, to conceal what he was doing and avoid being accused of interfering.  The censure that would have followed such an accusation from both Council and Senate would bother Qui-Gon very little.  But Obi-Wan was not his master. Still, another part of him was beginning to wonder if he didn’t care too much about the Council’s good opinion.

So, more than usual, he was missing home, his bed, and Qui-Gon, not necessarily in that order. For some reason, he found himself thinking about a mission they’d been on together when he was still a padawan, in their rocky first year as lovers.  Qui-Gon had managed to infiltrate a prison camp in the midst of a war zone, one he discovered was full of civilian women and children instead of combatants.  The place was basically a slave brothel for the use of soldiers.  One of the women had been Force sensitive and her abuse had deeply affected Qui-Gon, even later when they were kilometers away.  That night, they’d burned off the anxiety in the kind of rough sex Obi-Wan loved and Qui-Gon occasionally enjoyed.  It had broken the connection between Qui-Gon and the woman in the camp and stunned the older man into a deep and dreamless sleep. In a similar way, Obi-Wan wanted his lover’s tenderness right now to salve the horror of this mission.

Trying to put the current memory out of his mind, he shifted on the ship’s hard bunk, already stripped down to his underclothing in what passed for night on a ship traveling through perpetual darkness. He closed his eyes and, almost absently, his breathing in time with his sleeping master’s, Obi-Wan’s hands stroked down his chest.

 

In the dark, lying in his own bed, Qui-Gon’s eyes flew open at the ghost of touch.

Unlike on missions, where he and most other Jedi practiced an alert sleep that was more a deep meditation, in temple he gave himself up to the luxuries of true unconsciousness. Obi-Wan had often teased him about what a deep sleeper he was when they were at home. “An air strike next door wouldn’t wake you in the night. I can get out of bed three or four times and you just lie there completely inert and lumpen.” All that was true, which was just as well, considering what a light and restless sleeper his lover was.

But this was something else again and it pulled him from sleep as a sense of danger would on a mission. Someone had touched him, but there was nothing dangerous about it. On the contrary, it had been something very like a caress. He lay awake for a moment, blinking in the darkness, wondering at it and testing the Force. There was something . . . someone, here. Not in the room—he knew he was alone—but someone _with_ him. A presence. Obi-Wan? Or his own wishful thinking? 

The sensation, whatever it had been, was gone now—no, there it was again, like the touch of fingers over his skin, from the hollow of his throat to his navel and back, slow and comforting, tender, like Obi-Wan’s hands after they’d made love.

Obi-Wan’s hands.

Was that possible? Curious, he sought the bond and thinned the shields he’d constructed around his lover’s presence in his mind . . . oh, yes. Obi-Wan’s hands indeed.

The warm, familiar light that was his lover filled him as he opened himself to their bond.  A pleasant aftertaste of sweet tea filled his mouth as, with a sudden spike of recognition and happiness, Obi-Wan realized what he had done. Through it, Qui-Gon could also feel his lover’s heartsick loneliness.  His young knight had been home less than four tens in the last half rotation, and three of those Qui-Gon himself had been absent. Perhaps it was the intensity of the need to be with each other that had sent the sensation of touch across the distance. _More,_ he thought. _Again,_ projecting the desire along with the words.

Once more, the invisible caress flowed over his skin, electric now, filled with tenderness and a need so intense it made him gasp. “Obi-Wan—”

Delight came through the bond, and more desire, and pleasure, but no words. They were beyond that now, beyond the need for something as clumsy as language. His own hands strayed to his chest, following the path of the sensation, sending it back with his own desire. Obi-Wan rewarded his effort with a stunned surprise at the ardor of the returned feelings. Qui-Gon was equally surprised for a different reason. Distance seemed not to affect them, the way it had their training bond, and absence only seemed to make their feelings for one another stronger, as they had deduced after their somewhat intense initial reunion three years ago.  Though they had shielded very lightly since then, it seemed a wise choice.  The distraction was impossible to ignore. Those few moments of experiment had brought him up hard beneath the covers.

 

Obi-Wan shivered beneath the phantom touch and the responding desire of his lover. Qui-Gon’s hands were large and warm on his skin, the calluses just as he remembered them, everything so familiar and vivid it was as though Qui were lying beside him. It was almost too much to bear. Whimpering with need, he pinched his own nipples, wanting to feel the prickle of beard against his chest and Qui-Gon’s hot mouth and sharp teeth, biting, where his fingers were.

“Oh gods, Qui,” he moaned softly, still mindful he was not entirely alone. His lover answered somewhere so far inside his mind that it seemed to be all around him in the small cabin, an urge rather than words.  _Touch yourself, touch me._

Pulse speeding, he wet a finger and circled the hard little nub the way Qui-Gon liked. In return, he felt his own nipples pinched and pulled, punishingly hard, the way he liked it. His cock filled and tented his linens, aching, and his hands slid down his chest again to push them off his hips, releasing it.

 

Lightyears away, Qui-Gon did the same. Over the years, he’d acclimated himself to the tremendous amount of heat Obi-Wan seemed to throw off beneath the covers, when he wasn’t throwing the blankets off himself in sleep. When Obi-Wan was home, they rarely, if ever, slept in anything but their own skin, and not just for carnal purposes.  There was just no need.  But when Obi-Wan was gone from his bed, he found himself cold and had taken to sleeping in at least a pair of threadbare practice greys, if not a shirt as well.

Once off his hips, he kicked the greys away beneath the covers and spread his legs, though it was Obi-Wan’s hands he felt on the inside of his thighs.  Letting his hands roam, he imagined it was Obi-Wan’s body he was touching and felt a tremor through the bond in response.

By now, they had been lovers long enough to know each other’s needs and desires as well as their own, the bond only giving that knowledge an added dimension.  Through it, Qui-Gon could feel the tension in Obi-Wan’s muscles and the need for soothing, and the raw and uncomfortable energy he was radiating.  Had they been in bed together, Qui-Gon would have either held him down and simply run his hands over him until he calmed and stopped squirming, or done as they had that night on Haki: pushed him onto his knees and fucked him hard and fast enough to rugburn his knees and palms.

This was something new though, and had its limitations.  Or did it?  He felt another sweep of hands over his skin, a warm palm curled around his cock.  It made his breath go short.  But it wasn’t what his lover needed.

 

The hands gliding across his skin became Qui-Gon’s rough and enormous and surprisingly gentle ones. _Let me._ The urge this time was to lie back and do nothing but feel, something he hadn’t done since his knighting.  Before that, he’d let Qui-Gon make love to him most of the time they had sex. But their relationship had shifted and Obi-Wan had taken a more active role.  He suspected it would settle down to a fairly even split eventually, but he’d been enjoying being the top for a change.  This was a return to their old pattern.  For the moment, Obi-Wan welcomed it.  Besides, it would be an interesting experiment.  Would it be more like masturbation or like being made love to?

Naked now, he closed his eyes and lay on the covers with his legs spread wide and his arms at his sides, the bond’s floodgates open between himself and his lover.  The mission was over, his padawan asleep, their pilot would get them home; right now what he wanted was Qui-Gon’s comfort, in whatever fashion he could get it.

The large hands roamed ghostly over his skin, soothing, seeking, petting him, gentling him down, slowing his breathing until he was half-asleep and half-entranced.  Though he was lying on his back, he felt Qui-Gon’s fingers stroking the skin over his tailbone, where his master’s monogram lay.  It was a spot that, touched the right way, would hypnotize him with pleasure, and Qui-Gon knew just how to touch him.  His scalp prickled deliciously and lassitude filled him in gentle waves.  It was tinged with a low-key arousal that made him watery-jointed and almost incapable of movement.  He could feel himself trembling with both desire and pleasure.

 

The feedback through the bond was astonishing on Qui-Gon’s end.  Since the bond’s formation, they’d been ever more acutely aware of each other, and more often than not, the sensation of one of them going over the edge into orgasm would pull the other along almost simultaneously.  In some ways, Qui-Gon missed being able to enjoy watching his lover overcome by pleasure without being distracted by his own; on the other hand, it was a glorious experience, an unparalleled intimacy that awed and humbled him.

But he’d never before felt so clearly how Obi-Wan felt while they were making love.  It was a wondrous discovery.  He’d seen Obi-Wan melt under his hands before, but had never known exactly how much pleasure his caresses induced, or what the sensation was like in itself.  Now he understood the glazed, almost drugged look that sometimes stole over Obi-Wan’s features as the tension drained from his muscles as the result of Qui-Gon’s touch.

It made him ridiculously happy.

He sent his hands roaming again across his own body, not to the places that would please him, but instead making his own skin a map of Obi-Wan’s pleasure spots, and discovered in the process that it was just as arousing as pleasuring himself, if not more so.  He traced the lines of muscle on his abdomen that were far more clearly delineated on his younger partner, delved into his navel with a fingertip, and stroked down the join of leg and torso with a feathery touch, carefully avoiding his own very hard cock.  Instead, his hand dipped between his legs and cradled his scrotum.  Obi-Wan liked having his testicles tugged and squeezed and sucked, though it wasn’t something Qui-Gon was keen on.  But his perception of the sensations changed when filtered through Obi-Wan this way. And he could almost hear his partner’s moan of pleasure through the bond. It made him shiver.

 

Under the very real illusion of Qui-Gon’s hands, Obi-Wan began to move: squirming on the covers, rocking his pelvis, hands aching to touch himself.  Warmth engulfed his balls: Qui-Gon’s palm just hefting them at first and then squeezing gently, almost to the point of pain.  Obi-Wan clapped a hand over his own mouth to muffle the groan it pulled out of him.  _Perfect, perfect, oh yes, yes._  Impossibly, a feathery line of sensation flowed down his perineum from behind his scrotum to his anus and circled there, probing just a little, making him want to move back onto it, though there was nothing there. Finally, what felt like one of Qui-Gon’s big fingers pushed into him at last, just before he thought he might go mad with need. Rocking his hips, he felt his prostate being stroked, sending electric sparks up his spine. He wanted to touch himself desperately but sensed that would short-circuit the way his partner was winding him up for release.

Then that probing finger withdrew, leaving him thrashing on his bunk with frustration. The frustration lasted only a moment though, as something larger stretched and filled him.  What was Qui-Gon doing?  Whatever it was, Obi-Wan didn’t want it to stop.

 

On his side, one leg drawn up, Qui-Gon removed the plug he’d recently added to their toy chest, one that Obi-Wan had very much enjoyed, and pushed their stone dildo, one of Obi-Wan’s nameday gifts, slowly inside himself, angling so it glided along his prostate.  Beneath his sternum, Obi-Wan’s heart fluttered frantically, making his own speed up with it. The thing really was big, bigger than Obi-Wan’s cock, and Qui-Gon had never before used it on himself. Coated with lube, it slid in cool and hard and delicious, like the taste of tea in his mouth that was Obi-Wan, gone from sweet to spicy with the pitch of his arousal.

His own limbs were watery with need and excitement but it was the sensations in Obi-Wan’s body that captivated him. While they had shared orgasms previously, this was the first they’d had a true sense of contact while making love. That it should occur at such a long distance was truly a gift. Slowly, he moved the dildo in and out and began to pump his own cock with the rhythm and pressure Obi-Wan liked. And Obi-Wan responded. Almost at once, the level of arousal jumped to white-hot, filling Qui-Gon’s body with a powerful pre-orgasmic tension. He could feel how close to the edge his partner was, and how desperately he needed release. His breath was ragged and his hands shook as he fucked himself and worked his own cock, but it was as much Obi-Wan’s need as his own. _Just a little more . . ._

 

 _. . . a little more, a little . . . more—_ and Obi-Wan went up in a conflagration of his own, a much more pleasurable one muffled by his own hand, one that left him panting and whimpering and coated in sweat and semen. And Qui-Gon, he knew, had gone up with him in equal pleasure. He felt a hard bulk slip from his rectum— _a dildo then, that stone one, probably—_ and sighed. Through the bond came the warmth and light of Qui-Gon’s love and contentment, and the lassitude of afterglow. If they’d been boarded by hostiles at this moment, Obi-Wan would have been hard-pressed to get his utterly relaxed muscles to do anything. Before sleep could swamp him entirely, he staggered to his feet to use the head and cleaned up just enough to make sure it wasn’t obvious what he’d been doing, then crawled beneath the covers again and fell precipitously into unconsciousness, as did his partner, lightyears away.

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was awake and dressed again before Jicky, which could cut either way, he supposed. Either she had found sleep a refuge or had lain awake struggling by herself and shielding from him. His own sleep had been unbroken and restful, but he suspected Jicky’s was less so, a hunch confirmed when she finally did appear. Though she had dressed tidily enough, there was something unkempt and awry about her that had nothing to do with appearances. She picked at her breakfast until reminded not to waste it, then ate without seeming to notice it at all.

Their pilot was taking his turn off-watch in his own cabin, leaving the little ship to the two Jedi and the autopilot. Obi-Wan used the opportunity to suggest they meditate together in the cockpit. It was more a way to get Jicky to open up than anything else, and it wasn’t long before it worked.

Obi-Wan had folded himself into the pilot’s seat and closed his eyes in a semblance of meditation, all the while monitoring his training bond with Jicky. She had opened up a little since settling in her seat, but not much. What little was coming through was fear and sadness that bordered on despair, leaving her deeply unsettled. Obi-Wan knew the feelings well. After a few minutes, he sighed very softly—little more than a slightly heavy exhale—and opened his eyes again. He sat patiently watching the starlines streak by. After a moment, Jicky opened her eyes too and shot him a glance.

“You can’t meditate either, Master?” she said in a tentative voice.

“No,” Obi-Wan agreed. “It’s hard to not see those fires every time I close my eyes.”

“Me too,” Jicky agreed, seeming nonetheless a little relieved. “I thought it was just me.”

“Why would you think that, Padawan? Am I such an old stone?” he said with a smile.

She looked a little embarrassed then. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just—I mean, it must get easier, doesn’t it? To see stuff like that and not have it—”

“—upset you?” Obi-Wan shook his head. “I wish I could say it did. It doesn’t. And if it does, something’s gone wrong, especially for someone like you, who’s more attuned to the Living Force. It’s especially hard for Jedi like you, Jicky. I think you must feel it so much more. There’s a little refuge in the Unifying Force as one sympathizes more than empathizes. But it never gets easy to see others injured or murdered, especially not with such self-righteous brutality.”

“Oh,” she said quietly and fell silent, looking down at her hands. “What do you do then?” she asked after a while. “I mean, how do you get over it? Or does it always hurt?”

“Did you dream last night?” he asked gently. Jicky nodded and Obi-Wan sighed again. “I was afraid of that. I’m sorry, Jicky. I always do, too, for one or two nights afterwards. More, if it’s particularly bad.”

“Is this like the flashbacks you have sometimes?”

“A bit,” he acknowledged. “You know Jedi don’t dream, really. We see the past again, or sometimes the moment somewhere else or the future in our sleep. If it’s the past, sometimes it’s the Force’s way of telling us there’s something to be learned from it.”

Jicky snorted. “Like what? Don’t burn people alive? I knew that.”

“And yet some people don’t or it wouldn’t happen. What do you think there is to be learnt from something like this?”

Jicky pulled her feet up onto the seat and wrapped her arms around them again, sitting as she had last night. It seemed to be a preferred position for thinking. “This is about diplomacy, isn’t it?” she said slowly. “The big picture.” Obi-Wan kept silent, letting her work it out. “Using fear to keep power over people. That’s why it was so public.” She thought some more, and Obi-Wan could almost see understanding blossom on her face. “But you did the same thing.”

“Did I?” Obi-Wan replied innocently. “Did I harm anyone?”

“No. . . .” Jicky acknowledged. “No, you didn’t. But you threatened the Intercessor General.”

“Do you remember what I said?”

“Um, there’ll ‘be hell to pay,’ and, um, oh! I get it. ‘Remember what you’ve heard about us.’ Meaning about the Jedi. You were playing on his own fears. He scared himself.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “A not very nice way of controlling people, but far better than burning them to death. And since it’s the same form of control the Intercessor General is practicing, he might understand a little better how it feels to be on the other end of it. When the only weapons you have are words, it’s good to know how to use them to effect.”

“But we didn’t stop anything. We didn’t change anything.”

“No,” Obi-Wan agreed. “We didn’t. Not in the short term. But there were others watching us, as we acted as witnesses. And,” he said reaching into his utility belt for a tiny, almost invisible gizmo, “there’s now recorded visual evidence. Actions like this don’t survive well in a spotlight. That’s why it was important to stay and witness, and gather evidence, to have a list of the dead.”

Jicky nodded and put her head back on her knees. “I see. It all just takes so long, doesn’t it?”

“And you’d like to step in and change it now. So would I. But we must respect the sovereignty of both individuals and political systems, or the Republic becomes a dictatorship. So we protect the weak as we can and bully the strong when we have to. And we pay the price for our failures. But at least we care, where sometimes others don’t.”

She looked near tears again and he could feel her hurt, and her struggle with both. “It’s not a weakness to feel, Jicky. It’s not a weakness to cry, either. It’s not the emotions, it’s what you do with them. Do you control them or do they control you?”

“So what do I do, then, Master?” she choked. “I can still hear them. Still smell it.”

“Come here, first,” he said gently, holding out his hand, and Jicky came. Once again, he pulled her into his lap and put his arms around her. Jicky snuggled there as she had the first time he’d met her, years ago when she’d been a four-year-old orphaned captive. She’d trusted him instinctively then and did now. “Honor your feelings,” he said. “They do you credit, Little One. Then let them go.”

“But how—” she began, starting to sit up. Obi-Wan touched her lips and gathered her in again.

« _Let down some of your shields, Padawan. I’ll help you._ » They sat for a while, silently, until they were breathing in sync and some of the tension started to leave Jicky’s muscles. Together they sank into a light meditative trance, Jicky following her master’s lead. With a shift of focus, Obi-Wan found himself in the garden-green hues Qui-Gon had taught him to see, where Jicky was already more comfortable than he. « _See all that life around you? It goes on in a circle, all of us a part of it through the Force. We’re all just a very small part, but equally precious. Remember, but don’t grieve. Feel the Living Force around you and let your sadness go.»_

It was hard to stay in the Living Force for long and not feel its joy like a tonic; both he and Jicky embraced it, let it fill them, and slowly came back up from their shared meditation, renewed. They stayed together in the pilot’s chair, watching the starlines go by, Jicky leaning against her master’s shoulder, Obi-Wan resting his chin on top of her hair, his arms around her. It amazed him still how much he’d come to care for her, and how quickly. She was as important a part of his life as Qui-Gon or Bruck.

“Thanks, Master,” she said quietly, squirming off his lap and bowing respectfully.

Obi-Wan smiled and returned it with a nod. “You’re welcome, Padawan. I’m always here for you.”

“I know. I should do some studying.”

“And I’d best write up our report,” Obi-Wan added. “Go on, then.”

* * *

 

Their appearance before the Council was short but not sweet. No one in the room looked happy with the outcome, but knew there was little to be done about it. Yoda’s ears sagged in pain as Obi-Wan gave his report and there were sympathetic and horrified noises all around. Even Mace looked ill, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Obi-Wan concluded by handing over the visual recorder and the chip containing the names of the dead.

“I would like to be the one to enter these names formally into the Senate’s record, if I may,” he requested. “There were several to whom I made personal commitments before they were executed.”

“And me, too, please, Masters,” Jicky added, to Obi-Wan’s surprise.

Yoda’s ears leveled out as he looked at her. “Make a personal commitment also did you, Padawan?”

“No, Master. I just, I was there. I was a witness too,” she said, floundering uncertainly.

“Feel an obligation to them do you?” Yoda’s ears went up a little more.

“Yes,” Jicky said, sounding relieved that someone had figured out how she felt when she couldn’t. “That’s it exactly.”

“It means testifying before the whole Senate, Padawan. You understand that?” Obi-Wan warned her.

“I understand,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I need to say something too.”

Obi-Wan regarded her silently for a moment and nodded. “Yes, I can see you do.” Obi-Wan turned back to the Council. “If you would allow—”

Mace nodded. “Very well, Padawan. We’ll speak with the sponsoring senator and let you and your master know when you’ll be testifying. Thank you for your efforts, both of you. The Force be with you.” And they were dismissed.

With a bow, both of them swept from the chambers, Jicky a step behind her master, but they stopped just outside the chamber’s anteroom. Obi-Wan lay a hand on his padawan’s shoulder and turned to face her. “Jicky, you understand that you’re going to be used as a sympathy card.”

She frowned hard, not quite understanding what Obi-Wan was getting at. “It doesn’t matter. I want to do this.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “It does matter. You should at least understand that though your motives are unselfish, and what you’re doing is well-intentioned, much will be made of your actions that you don’t intend and may not like, later. For one thing, it will look like the Jedi are consciously using a youngling to move the Senate’s sympathies.”

“Because they are,” another voice added from down the hall. Qui-Gon had come to meet them. “If I know Mace. Your master’s right.” The older master picked up both travel packs, seeing how weary his two field operatives looked.

“But you must do what you feel is right, regardless,” Obi-Wan added, smiling wryly, aware of how very much he sounded like his own master.

Jicky looked uncertain now and unhappy about it. “I—I don’t know, now. I just wanted to say _something_. But if it’s going to be turned into something else—”

“There is always at least one other interpretation of any action, Jicky,” Obi-Wan told her. “We have a few days. Meditate on it. Do what the Force tells you is right.”

She nodded thoughtfully and fell in beside him as they turned back toward their quarters, Qui-Gon setting a slower than usual pace beside Obi-Wan for the sake of Jicky’s legs. They didn’t speak on the way back, but Qui-Gon’s free hand found Obi-Wan’s and wrapped around it with a squeeze, only letting go when they reached their own door.

“Thanks, Master Jinn,” Jicky said, relieving him of the packs. “I’ll take our cloaks to be cleaned now, Master,” she continued, collecting Obi-Wan’s as he stripped it off, “then pack up the rest of the laundry when I get back.”

“That would be a kindness, Padawan. It will be good to be rid of the smell.”

“Yeah, it will,” she agreed darkly, and scurried back out the door with her burden.

Obi-Wan, in the meanwhile, threw himself down on the sofa in a boneless heap while Qui-Gon went to make tea. He’d nearly fallen asleep by the time he heard the clinking of pots and cups and spoons set down on the table near his feet, and opened his eyes just as Qui-Gon extended a mug to him.

“Ah, the perks of being a master,” he murmured and took a sip.

“Indeed,” Qui-Gon agreed, sitting beside him with his own mug.

They sipped their tea in silence for a time, Qui-Gon slipping his arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, the younger man leaning into the embrace.

“I wish Jicky hadn’t seen this,” Obi-Wan said at last. “But I know I can only protect her so much.”

“That’s true,” Qui-Gon replied, his hand moving up into Obi-Wan’s hair, fingers massaging his scalp. “Did she take it hard?”

Obi-Wan would have nodded, but Qui-Gon’s touch felt too good to dislodge. “Yes,” he said instead. “Quite hard at first. We talked about it, and meditated together and she seemed better, but . . . And then she surprised me in the Council chamber by asking to testify as well. She’s continually surprising me.”

“A common reaction to padawans,” Qui-Gon informed him. “I felt much the same way about you, most of the time. Still do. For instance, I had a quite surprising experience a few nights ago.”

“Gods, I half thought I’d dreamed that,” Obi-Wan murmured. “I never suspected we could do that, did you?”

“No. As I said, it was quite a surprise.”

“But a lovely perk.” And Obi-Wan grinned wickedly, making contented sounds as Qui-Gon continued to stroke through his hair. “Almost as good as having you there. How was it on your end?”

“Odd . . . but very pleasant. I’ve never had such a clear sense of what you were feeling even though I was, in essence, pleasuring myself.” Qui-Gon leaned over and kissed Obi-Wan tenderly. His partner sank into it and they continued, tasting each other with little nips and sloppy, open-mouthed kisses until the door _whished_ open behind them once again, signaling Jicky’s reappearance. “That’s quite a gift we’ve been given,” Qui-Gon said, pulling back a little but keeping his arm around Obi-Wan.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed, settling against his lover. “It makes a great number of unbearable things bearable, including being away from you.”

Behind them, Jicky rummaged in their packs, pulling out the laundry and studiously ignoring the giant heap of mush on the sofa, which she was growing used to by now. It was one thing to get a hug from Master Obi-Wan, and another to see him and Master Jinn smooching all the time. _Ew,_ she shuddered and made a face behind her master’s back. None of the other padawans in her year had to put up with that. But if it kept her master happy, she supposed she could endure it. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.


End file.
